Nightwing II: Spectre Of Grief
by Nightwing1993
Summary: Sequel to Sins Of The Fathers. Gotham City is slipping further and further into turmoil following a series of terrorist attacks and the subsequent disappearance of the Batman. Struggling with grief and on the trail of a heinous serial killer, Dick Grayson and his new partner Stephanie Brown begin to unravel a deeper mystery surrounding the corruption of their city.
1. The Bleake Island Butcher

**This is a sequel to Sins of the Fathers, I'd recommend going back and reading that story before proceeding. If you have read it, welcome back, I hope you enjoy the next story!**

* * *

The streets have changed these last six months. Crime had always been rife; otherwise, people like me wouldn't need to exist, but this had been like nothing we'd ever seen before. I was barely sleeping and I'd dropped out of college completely. No one was that surprised considering our professor had been revealed as a criminal mastermind who'd brainwashed students into carrying out a terrorist attack.

I couldn't think much about any of that though, a girl was dead, the third one in the last eight weeks to wash up on the Bleake Island riverbank. Harvey Bullock was pacing beneath me, cursing under his breath and puffing frantically on a cigarette as I hovered discreetly a few metres from the crime scene. I was pretty sure he knew I was there, he usually did. He looked dreadful, clearly he'd not slept for days, probably toiling over the case just like I'd been doing.

Every database I could find, I'd combed through it several times over, whoever was killing these girls was an unknown or someone with exceptional skill at covering their tracks.

"Sir, we've finished cordoning off the scene," A young officer said, trembling slightly as he approached the hot-tempered Bullock.

"You want a medal, son? Get back over there and wait for forensics," Bullock snarled, and the officer scurried back to join his other colleagues by the yellow police tape.

A year ago I wouldn't have thought twice about dropping down and assisting directly with the investigation, but after the 'Red Hood' fiasco, a handful of terror attacks and the unofficial disappearance of the Batman, our favour at large with the boys and girls in blue was waning, to say the least.

We still had favour with Gordon which was something, and Bullock would tolerate me if I had useful information, but at that moment I was as stumped as he was.

Another detective who had been examining the body pulled up the yellow tape and ducked under it, strolling over to where Bullock was pacing. I knew her as Renee Montoya, a good officer, but not my biggest fan. It turns out she was a close friend of Ellen Yin's, a victim of the 'Red Hood' as far as the public was aware. I knew the truth of what happened to Yin, murdered by the Court of Owls, but it still felt like my failure was the real reason she died.

"It's all but confirmed, Harv," Montoya began, "Same brand as the last two vics, can't say for certain but she's around the same age, and..."

"... _and_ a brunette," Harvey sighed, tossing the nub of his cigarette away.

"Yep, forensics are about five minutes away, let's hope there's something new to pull from this one," Montoya said, with a complete lack of optimism.

The first victim was a woman named Polly Matheson, she was 38 and worked as a teller in a bank, she was found washed up with her throat cut and a brand burned into her shoulder. The second victim was named Rachel Hanna, 36, manager of a clothing store in the mall. They were both dark haired and of a similar age but other than that there didn't seem to be anything that linked them on a personal level, no shared acquaintances, they didn't even live in the same part of the city.

"Hope ain't helping, Ren. We need to be out on the streets leaning on perps and making more goddamn arrests, the scum ain't running scared no more which is making sick bastards like these think they can go around murdering innocent people," Bullock said angrily, "I got a niece and nephew in this city, I want 'em to be able to go to school with some peace of mind."

"No offence, Harv, but if they want peace of mind, they're living in the wrong city," Montoya said, and I couldn't help thinking she was right.

* * *

There was no ID yet on the third victim, but she seemed to fit the bill of the first two. The coroner explained that the brand had been applied post-mortem, and that the girl had been dead for a few days, and kept somewhere cold, before being discarded in the river.

After giving his report to Bullock, the coroner was kindly asked to leave the morgue. Harvey stood for a moment alone with the body before looking in my direction, in the shadows in the corner of the room.

"You'd better have something for me," He said.

"I'm afraid not," I replied, stepping into the light and looking down at the body on the slab, "I'm just here to get a closer look."

"Well we ain't got jack either," Bullock snarled, "I'm half tempted to bring you in for B&E just to make myself feel better."

"You can _try_ if you like, but I've got a feeling you don't move like you used to, Bullock," I jabbed.

The ageing detective let out a laugh, "I don't, but my gun works just fine."

Whatever witty retort I was about to come out with was to be saved for another day, as I noticed something almost microscopic under the fingernails of the murder victim. Delicately I lifted up her hand and took a closer look at what appeared to be yellow fibres.

"Your boys pick up on this?" I asked.

"Do we look like amateurs?" The detective snapped back.

"Should I _really_ answer that?"

Bullock took a deep breath to curb his instinct which may have been to shout at or slap me and began to explain, "The forensics took a sample of it at the scene, they think it might be fibreglass."

"Like roof insulation?"

"Yeah."

"So he could be keeping them in a loft... Or more likely he's using it for soundproofing," I said.

"Oh yeah?"

"Maybe, it at least gives us another line of enquiry."

"Every time you say _us_, I get this nasty feeling in my gut like you ain't gonna leave me alone anytime soon," Bullock snarled.

"I hate to say it, but you're one of the few cops I can trust anymore," I admitted.

Bullock laughed again, "Now that is sad."

"Tell me about it," I said, looking more closely at the body.

"Here," Bullock said, shoving a clipboard into my hands, "Read the report, instead of acting like you know what you're doing."

I scanned the report without replying to Bullock, it didn't say anything that surprised me, and I'd spent enough time in the morgue for one day - Heading for my exit, I turned my head back and said, "That phone I gave you, I want you to use it if there are any breakthroughs."

"I told you before, I ain't gonna…"

"Use it, Harvey, because if you don't and another girl washes up and there was something I could have done, it'll be on you."

I didn't wait to hear Bullock's curse-laden outburst.

* * *

A perfect breeze whistled in my ears as I leapt from rooftop to rooftop. The fluid movements soothed me as I sailed through the air on my grapple line. In spite of all the takeout food, I'd trained hard since Bruce's death, and I was probably fitter than I'd been for years. It honestly felt like I was at my peak, something that strangely reminded me of the circus, a memory which had been unfortunately tainted by the revelation that my father, John Grayson, had not been the man I was sure he was.

Before long, I was passing the roof of the Gotham museum, and my timing couldn't have been better. A slender female figure in a tight-fitting leather jumpsuit, complete with a cat-eared hood was peering down through the glass skylight.

Quietly, I dropped on to the roof and circled around to make sure Catwoman was working alone.

Satisfied with my sweep, I crept forward.

She purred as she leaned lower with the intention of cutting the glass.

"You know," I began, "I was swinging by, minding my own business and I thought I saw a puddy cat," She turned around and hissed at me, "And guess what? I _did_, I did saw a puddy cat!"

"What do you want, bird-brain?" Catwoman sighed in a sultry manner.

"I'd say that was kind of obvious, I stop crimes, you were committing one," I said, folding my arms and shaking my head.

"You stop crimes? That's not what I've been hearing, pretty boy. Where is the Bat, these days anyway?" She laughed.

"He has bigger fish to fry than the likes of you," I lied.

"Is that so? I heard he'd retired and left you to run the city all by yourself. And I must say you're doing a wonderful job, crime has… What was it… _Doubled_ in six months?"

"It ebbs and flows," I said casually, "I'm sure I can bring it down a little by taking you in."

"True, but you'll have to catch me first," She immediately tried to catch my face with a crack of her whip, but I was too fast and caught it firmly in my right hand and pulled her toward me. Before she could make another move, her arm was up her back and her whip was on the ground.

"Well, that was an epic chase, we should do this again sometime, Selena," I said, bringing her other arm around and cuffing her by the wrists.

"You can't arrest me, I didn't even do anything," She protested with confidence.

"Oh please, I can pin years of unsolved burglaries and assaults on you," I said, sitting her down against the side of the skylight, "Unless of course, you help me out?"

"You scratch my back, I scratch yours? Kinky," She said, winking at me, "And what could little old me possibly help you out with."

"Information, for a start."

"You vigilante types are all the same, you never want anything fun." She sighed.

"Oh we could have fun," I said, "For example, wouldn't it be fun if I visited you in prison? They might let us play Jenga together."

"Alright I get the picture, bird-boy, what do you want to know?"

"There's a killer on the loose," I began.

"Isn't there always," She said sarcastically.

I gave her a scathing look and continued, "He's killed three girls so far, brunettes in their thirties, branded their skin like cattle. We have no leads."

Selena's interest suddenly seemed piqued, she also seemed pissed off, "You _know_ I'm the first to punish any man who's hurting women, I'm offended you think I'd know something about it."

"I didn't think you would in all honesty."

"Great, so you were tricking me, off to jail then?"

"If you want," I said, "Or, you can keep your little ears to the ground and do some asking around for me, I'm sure you know plenty of unsavoury characters who wouldn't give me the time of day."

"Can't I just give you some names, and you can go hang them off rooftops or whatever it is you do nowadays?"

"I'm taking a softer approach on this one, no room for mistakes," I said, leaning over her and unlocking the cuffs.

"How do you know I'll hold up my end of the bargain. I never even agreed to anything?"

"You'll meet me back here in a week's time and tell me one way or another if you've found anything, and you'll do it because you don't want the death of a woman on your conscience."

She considered me for a moment, before asking: "What does this brand look like?"

* * *

I sat upright on the couch and wiped still-forming tears from the corners of my eyes, I must have fallen asleep, and I don't think I'd been having a good dream. I'd been laying on that couch since I got back from the museum, and it was getting light outside. Fumbling around, I reached down the side of the cushion I was sat on to find the TV remote. My eyes stung a little as the picture flashed to life, it was the news.

"... While the Police have no official comment, our sources tell us it has been at least four months since the last sighting of the Batman," The news-reader said, "The rising crime-rates in the city seem to suggest that the once-feared protector of Gotham has gone into retirement."

Her words made me think back to a conversation with Barbara and Alfred; when they told me that they wanted me to take up the mantle and become the Bat, insisting it was what Bruce would have wanted. But I couldn't. Being the hero, catching bad guys and bringing them to justice, that's me. But the drive, the one inside Bruce that pushes him and keeps his mind on the mission at all times, it just isn't there in me. Bruce Wayne was just a facade, a mask to hide the Bat, but Dick Grayson isn't, he's real, and Dick Grayson can't be the Batman.

Slowly I stretched out my arms before getting to my feet and scanning the room. The glow from the TV highlighted the growing number of fast-food containers which littered the lounge floor to the point where I could barely see the tattered rug covering the creaky hardwood floor. A pile of washing up was starting to breed life in the sink, and the laundry basket was overflowing. Under the lounge window sat a single cardboard box which I'd lazily taped up. The word 'Melissa' was scribbled on the front of it.

Melissa had been my girlfriend until her discovery of my secret identity - she'd seen me allow her father to fall to his death, despite the fact I'd done everything in my power to save him. The post-mortem on what was left of him revealed that a toxin had led to his psychotic behaviour, but by the time Melissa discovered who I was, the damage was done. That box had sat under the window for months, and I wasn't under any illusions that she was ever coming to collect it.

I weakly slid some of the takeout boxes over to the trashcan by the kitchen with my foot, noticing my phone was sitting on the kitchen side. The screen lit up with the message '3 Missed Calls', all three of which were Barbara. I flicked on the main light in the apartment, amplifying the true extent of the mess, before putting the phone in my pocket, deciding once again not to call Barbara back.

With another stretch, I headed over to the bookshelf which doubled as a secret door to my hidden attic. Something squelched under my foot as I activated the lock. The door swung open and I peeled a piece of day-old pepperoni from the bottom of my bare foot. I swore to Barbara the last time we spoke that I wasn't wallowing, but from the state of my residence, it sure looked like it.

The light at the top of the stairs was on, someone was in the loft. Fists ready for a fight, I crept up the stairs, music was playing.

"Hey, about time you woke up!" Steph said loudly over the music.

Relieved, I let my guard down and replied, "Steph, what are you doing here?"

She was sat at the main computer with a mug of coffee, she'd cut her hair into a tousled bob since the last time I'd seen her, I'd advised a haircut as she was complaining about it irritating her in costume.

"I came in earlier, you were asleep so I just came up here," She said smiling, "Thought I'd go over some of those courses Alfred set up for me."

"When did you get a key?" I asked.

"Door was unlocked, bro," She laughed.

Now that I thought about it, I didn't actually remember coming in or locking the door. Everything past speaking to Selina at the museum was a total blur, probably a symptom of not getting enough sleep.

"So..." She said, making a shape around her head with her hands and fluttering her eyelashes mockingly, "What do you think?"

"The hair? I like it, very fashionable," I replied.

"Like _you_ know anything about fashion, you own a pair of cargo shorts," She mocked, scrutinising my outfit with her eyes.

"It's called being practical, you can never have too many pockets..."

"Hmm, any leads on that killer you're looking for?" Steph asked.

I shook my head.

"Damn," She said, "If you need me to help out, just say so."

"No, it's fine, stick at your training for now. We'll do our Friday patrolling as normal," I said. Since I took Steph under my wing, Alfred had helped me devise some training programmes to help her improve on her awareness and detective skills. She'd proven herself as a fighter but there's a lot more to what we do than just cracking skulls. However, we'd taken to patrolling together on Friday nights, to keep her from losing her fighting edge.

"Alright, can you do me a favour though?" She asked.

"What?"

"Clean up a little, the place is starting to smell."

"Is it?" I said jokingly, "I thought that was you."

"Shut up," She laughed, "Help me out with this will you, what the hell is an Escrima stick?"

* * *

The following afternoon, I was doing as Steph had instructed and tidying the apartment when my phone rang, an encrypted contact that immediately activated the voice changer software Barb had kindly installed on my main device so that I didn't have to carry two phones. I pressed my thumbprint against the button, the only way to answer these types of calls, and put it to my ear.

A gruff and agitated voice spoke, I could almost hear his pride moving down his throat, "It's Bullock."

"Got something for me?" I said.

"We got a DNA match to another case."

"Go on?"

"An assault witnessed in Morrison Park two weeks ago, a kid called us and said he saw a woman hit over the head and dragged off matching the vic's description."

"And?"

"A team checked it out, no evidence he saw anything, the kid has all kinds of behaviour issues, lives in a foster home, we put it down to a hoax. Last week we get a call from the foster home, saying the kid rocked up with a shiny new iPhone that he couldn't unlock, and the lady there hands it into the station."

"Right, and you think he took it from the assault victim?" I asked.

"I know it. There was a fingerprint and a smattering of dried blood still on the phone. Forensics didn't process it until last night, and it came up with a match on our database."

"So we have the victim's phone?" I said, jumping up from the sofa with excitement, just the breakthrough we needed.

"Yeah, but we ain't the NSA, we don't have some magic key to unlock it, so..." Bullock said, swallowing that pride all over again.

"So, you wanted to see if I could do it?" I laughed.

"Can you?"

"Yes, I can, how quickly can you get it to me?"

"I'll call you back once I've got it from evidence, might take a day or so," Bullock said.

"Quick as you can, that phone could end this before someone else gets hurt."

"I ain't a frickin idiot. I'm bringing the kid back in for questioning first thing in the morning."

"Alright, keep me posted," I said, and the line went dead.

Immediately I called Barbara, who answered with a whisper, "What is it? I'm working?"

"Sorry, sorry," I said quietly, "Call me when you've finished, we've got a breakthrough."


	2. Rats

Gotham Central was heaving; I could barely see the main desk for the mob forming in front of it, from the aggressive hum of noise I could hear as I approached, it looked like they were all trying to make complaints or report crimes. Active officers were at an all-time low while arrests were at an all-time high, leaving more cops buried under paperwork than out on the streets.

Barbara had pulled some strings with her father to get a job behind the front desk three months ago, deciding that she wanted to be closer to the action in the hopes of obtaining additional information throughout the day. Jim was just happy for the extra help. Staff were resigning daily it seemed, and he had to spread officers thinly across various precincts.

Over the angry heads, I spotted Barb with a phone pressed between her shoulder and ear while she tried to type with both hands on her keyboard. She spotted me and gave a quick wave and a smile. It was still weird, being friends with her, she was my first love, at one time centre of my universe. My overriding goal was to keep her safe - even though she didn't need it. I'd never admitted it to her, but she was way tougher than me.

Bruce objected to our relationship at first, calling it a weakness to be exploited, but my determination won out when he saw Barbara and me, Batgirl and Robin, fighting side-by-side for the first time. He didn't admit it until years later, but he was in awe of our synchronicity. It was something we'd never lost, our ability to fight together, like a rhythm we just stepped back into whenever the situation arose.

After joining the Titans, and becoming their leader, my priorities shifted again, and I began to drift apart from Barbara and Bruce. The latter shifting into a sort of resentment which eventually pushed me to put aside the Robin identity for good and become Nightwing, the name of a Kryptonian God, suggested to me by Superman. It wasn't long before I was swept off my feet by an alien princess, crazy as it sounds. Kori, or Starfire to the rest of the world, opened my eyes to a whole new world of possibilities before leaving Earth for good to save her homeworld.

Her leaving brought me back to Gotham. Bruce invited me back to the mansion, where I lived with Bruce, Alfred and Jason. But an uncomfortable tension was brewing between Bruce and I. He was bossy, controlling, acting like I was still Robin, still his sidekick. We reached a boiling point. And the night we lost Jason, when we needed each other the most, I cracked. I said things, and he said things, things we were too proud to admit we regretted right away. I took my motorcycle and moved into an apartment on campus where I'd signed up to go to college. If I could go back to that night... Take back everything that was said, say I was sorry... I'd do it in a heartbeat.

Barbara popped out of a door to the right of the front desk; she'd been relieved while I was lost in thought. Shuffling her coat on, she grabbed me by the arm and led me to the staff exit.

"I wish you'd answer that phone once in a while," Barbara said, leading me down the stairs to the parking lot beneath the station.

"Good day at work?" I said with a grin, ignoring her remark.

"A nightmare, _as usual_," She replied, "I can barely keep up with all the reports, I was supposed to clock off an hour ago, but I couldn't get off the phone."

"The city is falling apart around us Barb, but we might just have a lead on this serial killer," I explained.

"Keep your voice down," She snapped, "Wait until we're in the car, this is a police station."

I put on an insulted look and gestured to zip my mouth shut as we strode the length of the parking lot to Barbara's car. The footwell of the passenger side wouldn't have looked out of place in my apartment, fast food wrappers and a couple of empty soda cans littered in the bottom.

"Don't say a word, I've seen what your place looks like," Barb growled before I could even mumble.

I sat down and fastened my belt, "Can I talk now, boss?"

She nodded, "Go on," And started the car.

I explained everything Bullock had told me about the kid witnessing the assault in the park, and the stolen phone which belonged to the victim.

"… And Bullock is going to give you the phone?" Barbara asked.

"Yeah, so that we can hack into it and find out who the victim is."

"Bullock could lose his job if he gets found out."

"It's worth the risk if it gets us closer to the killer. No one has even reported the poor girl missing, and if the kid was telling the truth, she was taken two weeks ago."

"That's how we ID'd the previous victims, right?" She asked me, turning the car out on to the street.

"Yeah, there wasn't a shred of evidence on the first two, their families had to identify them. Bullock thinks the brand is some kind of taunt."

"Do we know anything about the symbol?"

"Nothing, it's not religious, it doesn't belong to any known organisation, criminal or otherwise. It's just... a pattern I guess, in a circle," I explained, not giving the best description but it really was that simple.

"How does this guy go from clean murders with no witnesses or evidence to this?"

"My guess would be, he messed up, let's just hope the phone can give us something," I said with a shrug.

"Once we get to the cave I'll start setting up the program, do you know what kind of phone it is?"

"Bullock said an iPhone, didn't say what model," I told her.

"Should be easy enough to crack," She explained, "I'll test the software on my phone first and make sure it doesn't damage any of the files."

We drove out of the city limits towards Wayne Manor, Barbara explaining to me the whole way the intricacies of dealing with police admin work and petty crime reports. It was so enthralling that I nearly fell asleep, of course, Barb noticed right away and flicked me on the ear.

"Ouch," I said, rubbing the wound.

"Am I really that boring," She asked jokingly.

"You? No. _Your story_? Well..."

"Ha. I'll remember that next time you want to tell me what you learned in class."

I laughed awkwardly; she didn't know I'd dropped out of college. But she did know me, and when I was keeping something from her.

"What is it?" She asked, "You've been going to class, right?"

"I..." I began.

"Dick for god's sake, how long haven't you been going?"

"I never went back. After Crane," I admitted.

"_That's_ why you've been avoiding me. Alfred and I asked you to come and live at the manor, and your excuse was that you needed to be closer to the campus!" She snapped.

"I'm sorry, I needed time to myself, the two of you were driving me crazy - begging me to put on the cowl."

The car halted suddenly, and Barbara turned to look at me venomously, "Only because you said you hadn't made up your mind! We would never force that responsibility on you if you said you didn't want it!"

"Oh yeah, and you don't think the city would be better off if I put on the mask? You don't think it's all my fault?"

"How can you ask me that? Of course, I don't blame this mess on you. It's all at the feet of Crane and those damned Owls," She insisted, placing a hand on mine, "If you need to stay at the apartment, if you think that's best, then I won't mention staying at the manor again."

"Thank you."

"But, I can't believe I'm saying this, maybe you should invite Roy to stay again or something? Just for a little while, I don't think you're coping as well as you want us to think you are."

"I'm coping just fine," What did she know, "And I haven't heard from Roy since he arrived in Vegas. He's off the grid."

"What about Steph? It might help her training if you're under the same roof?"

"Drop it, Barb," I said coldly, "I'm here because I need your help with a case, just because I'm not going to class it doesn't mean I'm not coping."

"Then why did you drop out?" She pressed.

"Because my professor was a psychopath. Simple as that. He was a terrorist and a madman and it kind of tainted the whole experience if I'm perfectly honest."

Barbara started the car again and began to drive. She remained silent for a minute or so.

"OK, I'll drop it," She said finally.

"Thanks," I replied.

"_If_," She continued, "You promise that if you need to talk, you'll pick up the phone."

I nodded, "I promise."

* * *

Something was rattling as I sat to the large dinner table, Barb had her head buried in her laptop, but something was audible over the sound of tapping keys. Alfred entered the room with a tray of tea and biscuits; his hands were trembling.

Placing the tray down he handed me a cup and saucer and put one in front of Barbara who didn't look up from her laptop, her eyes darting back and forth as she hammered at the keys.

The old butler poured tea shakily into my cup, "Milk, Master Grayson?" He asked.

"It's alright, Alfred; I'll deal with it, why don't you sit down?" I said, pulling out a chair.

Alfred coughed and patted himself on the chest, "I appreciate the offer, but I really must get back to the kitchen, I'm in the middle of a stew."

"You don't sound so good, at least let me help you out?"

"With respect, sir, you'd just be in the way," He said with a smile before walking out of the door.

I tapped the back of Barb's laptop, and she looked up at me.

"How long has he been like that?" I asked.

"It came on a week, or so ago, I've had Leslie look him over, with protest of course. She said it's a chest infection, he's on antibiotics," Barb explained.

"Well as long as you're keeping an eye on him."

"I am, don't worry."

"Also, should he be preparing food?"

"He's been wearing a mask and gloves into the kitchen," She laughed, "He won't let me anywhere near."

"Sounds about right," I said, "How is Leslie? I haven't seen her since the funeral."

"She comes over for dinner a lot; she seems fine. But don't we all?" She sighed, the shifting to a more upbeat tone she said, "You know she went on a date with my dad?"

"No way," I said, "I didn't know your dad even had a social life."

"I think that's the problem, they had a great time according to her, but she can barely get him on the phone to arrange another date. I try not to bring it up when I see them though, feels a little icky."

"They have a lot in common, I guess," I thought aloud.

"Divorced workaholics with demanding professions," Barb said with a nod.

"I wonder if she'll make you call her 'mom'"

"Shut up," She laughed.

"What does your dad think about you staying here?" I asked.

"He thinks it's a little weird that Bruce Wayne needs a house sitter while he's travelling," She said with a shrug, "But he's happy to have me out of the city at night. If only he knew."

The night drew on, and the three of us sat down to eat Alfred's famous stew. The butler humorously sat at the far end of the table, which was a compromise for him insisting he'd eat in the study that Barb has dubbed his 'Quarantine Zone'.

We spent a while reminiscing about old times and telling stories about Bruce, which was nice because we'd struggled to talk about him in the past, but it was almost as if a fog was lifting and we were ready to remember the good times. Every now and again, Alfred would pause to let out raspy coughs; I couldn't help but feel I wasn't being told something. They'd treated me like a porcelain doll ever since Bruce's death.

Partly by my own self-isolation, and partly because Alfred and Barb acted like I was a child, I was starting to feel at a distance from them. I hoped as Barbara, and I made our way to the cave, that working together on the butcher case would bridge the gap again.

"Selina Kyle is back in Gotham?" Barb asked, shocked as the elevator to the cave juddered from side to side. Bruce had forced Selina to leave a few years ago in the aftermath of Jason's death, as the Joker seemed to be going after known associates of the Batman.

"Yep, and back to her old tricks," I explained, "But I think I've gotten her onside for the time being."

"The butcher case," Barb said, nodding with a knowing smile, "She's a lot of things, but if there's one thing she cares about, it's women being mistreated by men."

"That's what I'm counting on," I said, wobbling slightly as the elevator came to a hard stop, "The sooner we can catch this asshole the better."

The doors opened, and the lights in the cave flickered to life as we stepped into the sensors.

"You should have brought Steph with you," Barb said, "She'd benefit from shadowing us on this. How's her training going?"

"So so," I replied, "She gets the fighting side, and she's fearless. It's just the more delicate aspects we're having trouble with."

"She's just like her mentor then?" Barb jabbed.

"You are too funny..."

Barbara sat down in the main chair in front of the Batcomputer; I pulled one alongside her. She took out her phone and connected it to the central computer tower via USB. Typing something so fast I could barely see, a string of code appeared on the screen.

"This program should give us full access to the unencrypted partition of the phone, I'll test it by trying to get into the contacts first," Barb explained.

"So this would never be able to get into the information we store regarding our extracurricular activities?" I asked.

"In theory, no. I used military grade software with a few flourishes of my own to upgrade the phones. But this'll be a good test," With a few more strokes of the keyboard, a loading bar appeared on screen, "Once that's full we should have access to the phone."

"It's that easy?"

Barbara flashed a smile, "It's _that_ easy."

What followed was a very long ten minutes. We watched eagerly as the blue bar crawled across the screen on its hands and knees. Neither of us spoke until the action had completed.

A list of contacts popped up onscreen including a few that I knew.

"How come you have Nate's number?" I asked in an accusatory tone, wondering why my buddy Nathan's number was in her phone, had she been checking up on me?

She laughed, "We work together now."

"Oh, of course," I replied, the facts clicking into place, Nate was an officer in the GCPD, assigned initially to Precinct 06. He was shot in the mass breakout at Arkham Asylum last year and had been assigned to desk work at Gotham Central upon his return to active duty.

"I'm not spying on you, Dick," Barbara insisted, "If I wanted to do that I'd just ask Steph."

"Sorry, I know, I'm just..."

"Paranoid?"

"Maybe, I've not been getting a lot of sleep lately."

"Go and see Leslie if it's causing you trouble, she could prescribe you something."

"I'll think about it," I said, knowing full well that I wouldn't, I didn't need drugs, "At least we know the software works, I just need Bullock to get me that phone."

* * *

The bunks in the Batcave were more comfortable than I remembered, but I couldn't get any sleep. I tossed, turned and all manner of other squirming movements to try and find a position to drift off in the dark for hours before giving in and clambering to my feet. I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and strolled to the vault, flicking through my phone as I did.

Batman's many suits were stood before me in glass cases, staring accusingly at me, the masks were expressionless, and yet they were speaking to me. Telling me I was to blame for Bruce's death and for the cancer spreading through Gotham. All I had to do was put on the mask, and it would fix the rot that had taken hold of the city.

The voices were growing, swelling, put on the suit. Put on the suit. PUT ON THE SUIT.

I punched the glass in front of me, then again, and again, and again until my hands were bloody and cracks had formed where my fists had pummelled the surface. A metal chair behind me became my weapon; I hurled it with full force at the partly broken glass which shattered.

The towering black suit lurched forward and fell from the alcove in the wall, landing face first on the ground. The voices stopped, I was alone again, sweating and panting as I stood over the suit.

But was I alone? I felt a prickle on the back of my neck and turned, a figure seemed to flash past the door to the vault. I gave chase and ran out into the main area of the cave. I looked left and right, up and down. There was no one there.

"Barbara?" I called out. Nothing. I called out again, "Alfred?" There was no response.

I ran over to the Batcomputer and hammered at the keys to open the security logs, a series of windows opened up showing all of the cameras within the cave including the ones in and outside the vault.

The camera within the vault showed me beating the glass case and smashing it with a chair. I thought for a moment about what Barbara would say when she saw it. I'd never hear the end of it. The camera outside the vault showed nothing. There was no one there.

I scrubbed the footage back and forth and noticed the image didn't change. I did it again to see if the footage hadn't just stalled. Once again, the picture didn't change; I never stepped out of the vault on video. I matched the timestamps exactly to my exit within the vault. The camera outside was broken.

"Who's there?" I shouted, spinning around and readying my fists.

Something dropped from above, a shroud of darkness. It struck me on the head, and that same darkness consumed me.

* * *

"Dick!"

My head was spinning. I gasped and clutched my chest as if I'd just been revived from death. Barbara shot backwards as I sat up sharply. I was on the floor; Barb had been knelt over me.

"What the hell happened?!" She exclaimed, "Are you alright?"

"Someone was here, Barb," I explained breathlessly, "He dropped down from the..."

I looked around; I wasn't in front of the Batcomputer anymore. I was sat on the floor of the dojo; the assailant had moved me.

"Dick?" Barb said.

"I was in the vault, I chased him, and he knocked me out in front of the Batcomputer. He must have dragged me in here," I said, rubbing the back on my head where I'd been struck, surprisingly it no longer hurt.

"Dick, whoever he was, he wiped the security tapes," Barbara explained, "It looks like he stole a whole bunch of equipment."

"Miss Gordon," Alfred said, peering around the door, "I'm afraid our intruder was able to do serious damage to the contents of the vault before the fire suppression system activated."

"Damn it!" I exclaimed, pulling myself to my feet, "How the hell did someone get in here!"

Alfred stepped forward and reached out to give me something, "Your mobile phone, sir; it was on the floor by the computer."

"Thanks, Alfred," I said, taking it and looking it over. It wasn't damaged, but I had four missed calls and a voicemail from an encrypted number. The message, which I played out loud, was an expletive-laden rant from Bullock, insisting that I call him back right away.

Barbara and I ran out to the Batcomputer which had been tampered with to an extent we weren't yet sure of. She typed in the name of a security protocol, and several slamming noises followed, echoing through the cave and disturbing the bats who began to flutter around.

"I've locked down the cave, looks like the security measures are all still in place," Barb explained, clicking another item which brought up the live feed to the cameras, "The cameras have all been physically destroyed."

"I was looking for him on the cameras," I told her, "That's how he knew where they were."

"That doesn't explain how he did this," She said, pointing to the screen, "He's infected our mainframe with a virus."

"What kind of virus?" I asked.

"It's completely eradicated our back up drives; he must have known the security footage transfers to an off-site server, so he got rid of it."

"I didn't even know that, how the hell did he?"

"The virus was one of ours too, from Wayne Enterprises R&D department. It was developed for intelligence operations in order to isolate files to a single location; it erases backups so that information can be ransomed. We had a copy in the cave. He could have found that out from the computer archives and used it against us."

My head dropped into my hands, we were utterly unprepared, and now someone had compromised our entire operation.

"Whoever did this knows who we are," I said, falling back into a chair, "Did Bruce have a contingency plan?"

"There's only one I can think of that wouldn't have been on the Batcomputer. But Alfred and Bruce are the only ones who can initiate," Barbara explained.

"Well let's do it, and fast."

"There's a second 'cave' in the city that Bruce set up way back when he started out, we'd move operations to there, and this place would have to be dismantled entirely."

"The _Ratcave_," I said with a nod, "That's what Bruce called it. I only ever went to it once; it's under an apartment complex on Founder's Island. It has rats."

"Hence the creative nickname," Barbara sighed, "Suit up, we need to sweep and make sure our intruder isn't still here. Assuming we don't find him, I'll get Alfred to give us access to the 'Ratcave', and we can start tearing this place apart."

* * *

Whoever attacked the cave was gone. We spent the next eight hours combing every inch of the cave, finding nothing and jumping at shadows. When Barb finally released the lockdown, we'd decided to initiate the moving protocol. It would take several days to harvest the Batcomputer in its entirety and at least two weeks to completely seal off the cave.

Due to lack of space at the Ratcave, we would have to destroy most of the vehicles in the Batcave and bury the remains in concrete. The vault, dojo and other areas could be easily torn apart and scrapped without damaging the cave system itself.

I felt suddenly sentimental about the juddering elevator as I rose alone out of the cave. Barb had insisted she deal with the first phase of the protocol by herself while I returned Bullock's calls.

"You tell me to call you and then when I do you don't even pick up the goddamn phone," Bullock snarled.

"Have you got the phone?" I asked.

"No."

"What? When can you..."

"It was frickin stolen from evidence before I could get to it," He interrupted, "Some son of a bitch walked right through the door and walked out with it."

"How?"

"The only people allowed in and out of that room are cops, I've got a goddamn traitor in my station."

"Do you know who?" I asked.

"I don't know yet, but I'm gonna find out."

He swore again as he hung up the phone. I felt like throwing mine against a wall.


	3. Friday Patrol

Friday was patrol night, so naturally, my phone was littered with messages from Steph that morning when I woke up on the sofa. I thought for sure I'd made it to the bed, but apparently not.

The cave transfer was running on schedule, on the last update, Barb had utterly gutted the mainframe and taken apart the Batcomputer, she'd made it clear that today she was not to be disturbed. Alfred was organising the covert hiring of construction equipment so that we could tear the place down.

All of that left me with time to spend training Steph.

"You better not be calling to cancel!" Steph snapped immediately as she answered the phone.

"Hi, Dick, how _are_ you? Oh, I'm fine thank you, just calling to arrange your training..." I mocked.

"Oh. Sorry. What time do you want me?" She said, more cheerfully.

"Not sure I even want to now," I replied, "You've wounded me."

"Whatever, asshole."

"Charming as ever, what time do you finish class?" I asked.

"I'm done now; I was just gonna hit the library."

"Seriously?"

"HA. Of course not, I'm going home," Steph laughed.

"Come over now if you want, I need to update you on a few things," I explained.

"Will do. I'll be about twenty minutes. You better have cleaned that place up."

I looked around at the pizza boxes and other trash that I'd half-cleaned away before I got distracted by Bullock's call, "It's spotless."

"See you soon then," She said, hanging up.

I leapt up, I didn't really care about Steph's opinion of the apartment, but I knew she didn't believe I'd cleaned. Therefore, I frantically stacked the many pizza boxes, ran across the apartment and threw them into my bedroom — an elegant solution.

Next was sweeping, which I wasn't very good at the best of times. I simply decided to push everything into a corner for the time being.

By the time Steph arrived, the lounge and kitchen looked mildly presentable.

Ironically, her detective skills were her weakest asset, but the instant she arrived, she sauntered straight over to the bedroom door, swung it open and crossed her arms.

"How did _that_ get there?" I asked, placing a hand on my chest and gasping theatrically.

"You're gross," She said, throwing her bag down on my bed.

"I'm very ashamed, and I apologise sincerely," I said insincerely.

"What did you want to tell me, anyway?" She asked, before leaping over the bag of the couch and landing on it with a thud. Something I'd told her repeatedly not to do, but I'd also told her I would tidy up so I decided not to say anything for now.

"Well..." I began and went on to explain everything that had happened in the cave. As I detailed the attack and aftermath, Steph didn't say a word, merely sitting and listening, nodding occasionally. She looked contemplative, a word I never thought would describe her, but the idea someone could get into the cave and assault me was as shocking to her as it was to the rest of us, which said a lot about the overall impression of the cave because she didn't know the half of the security measures in place.

The stunned silence lasted a while after I'd finished speaking, until she finally asked, "How does that even happen? I thought you said the Batcave was like, mega secure?"

"That's the scary part, whoever this guy was he knew how to get in and out without detection. I hate to think what would've happened if I hadn't been awake," I said.

"Sounds like you were pretty useless anyway," Steph commented, "No offence."

"He got the drop on me," I said, choosing to take the unnecessarily barbed comment in stride, "I got the feeling there was some kind of supernatural element at play. So watch your back out there, whoever this is, I think my identity and Bruce's may be compromised."

"I'll keep my eyes peeled, what makes you think it's supernatural? Don't tell me you're friends with Sam and Dean," She laughed.

"Yeah, we have afternoon tea all the time, with Elmo and Jimmy Kimmel," I said dryly.

"Seriously though..."

"I didn't see him really at all, but he shrouded me in this black fog, like some sort of... I don't know... _ethereal_ cape he was wearing. All I know for sure is, it felt like he'd struck my head, but when I woke up I didn't have a scratch or a bruise on me."

Steph looked concerned, "Lean over."

I tipped my head forward, and she fingered through my hair and looked at my scalp.

"You're right, man, nothing there aside from dandruff, weird," She said stroking her chin, "You know, those Talon dudes we fought had some pretty deep connections, and they were all gross and monstery - maybe the owls are back in town."

"It did occur to me," I said with a nod, "I need to figure a way to get in front of Crane without a police escort. He knows who I am so if I walk in there with Bullock or someone and he decides to finger me as Dick Grayson, well, Bullock could see through the mask with a push in the right direction. Also, I don't have dandruff."

"Yeah it's really not the best disguise, man, I liked the one with the red hood better. And yeah, you do, it gets everywhere," She said, ruffling my hair as she hopped back over the couch and moved for the refrigerator.

I raised an eyebrow to her, thinking of all the trouble the Red Hood suit got me into, "I've come to the conclusion that red isn't my colour."

"I just think the suit you usually wear makes your butt look big," She explained jokingly as she grabbed a soda.

"Nice to know where your eyes go when you're following me."

"I was joking, you perv."

"Apparently, you're the perv," I said, turning around and moving to stand at the edge of the couch, "Help me move this, will you?"

"What for?" She said, putting the drink down and rounding on the other side of the couch, grabbing the arm.

"Making some floor space, I want to test you out with those escrima sticks you've been reading about."

"In here? Can't we just find a roof, I gotta tell you, the smell in here is a little off-putting," She said, looking towards the pizza boxes in the open bedroom doorway.

"Open a window," I said, heaving the sofa up and shuffling backwards to barricade the door with it, "We can't risk training outside in daylight."

"Fine, fine," She said, dropping the sofa harder than I'd have liked her to.

"We won't be doing anything crazy; just some coordination moves," I explained.

"I thought you wanted me to _hone_ my detective skills," She questioned.

"I've had enough for one week, and I could do with a workout."

"You sure, wouldn't wanna tire you out before we go on patrol."

"About that..." I began.

"Don't you dare bail on me," She said viciously.

"Woah, chill, we're still going," I explained, hands in the air, "I just have to meet Bullock somewhere first, so you'll have to stay out of sight and wait for me."

"Why can't I meet him too?"

"Honestly? I think you'll piss each other off too much."

"Oh thanks," She huffed, folding her arms.

"It's not just you, he's a difficult guy at the best of times, don't want to be refereeing and trying to get info out of him at the same time."

"Whatever, let's get started, I'm all fired up."

I laughed and thought of something Bruce always said to me, "Rule number one, never fight angry."

* * *

Harvey Bullock stood with his hands buried deep in the pockets of his overcoat, the brim of his hat pulled down over his eyes. He looked about as conspicuously inconspicuous as a person could look standing on a street corner in the rain. I dropped down from the building above him and was met with a grunt as he led me into a nearby alley.

"Little far from Gotham Central aren't we?" I stated, looking at the grim surroundings of the abandoned buildings directly across from what used to be the Stromwell Building - which was demolished after the Scarecrow attacks damaged the foundations.

"Don't know who I can trust in that place," Bullock Grumbled, pulling a file out of his jacket but keeping it close to him to shield it from the rain, "The evidence room's got a logbook, so I got the name of the filthy rat and pulled his file."

"Wow, you never usually get me presents," I said, taking the file and tucking it under my arm out of the rain.

"Funny. His name, address, everything's in there," Bullock explained, "Keep that safe and don't tell nobody you got it from me."

"What do you want me to do? Tail him?"

"Tail him. Raid his house. I'd do it myself, but I don't want anyone to think we're on to him, he might not be working alone and I ain't got time for warrants. If he's a rat I want him flushed out so I can do my job, and I want that phone."

"Alright, I'm on it," I said, making to walk away.

"Word of advice," Bullock said, grabbing my arm, "Don't go throwing him off any rooftops, or I'll have to bring you in."

"Excuse me?" I replied, confused.

"One of yours, dropped a perp off a fire escape last night," He explained as if I already knew, "Fixer named Ronnie Bates, broke both his legs. Lucky the little punk is even still alive."

"What the hell? He conscious?"

"Yeah, told the officers he fell, but I know the work of a vigilante when I see it. I don't wanna hear about any more shit like that, you understand?" Bullock said, almost threateningly.

"Bullock, it wasn't us. Maybe he really fell?" I suggested.

"Bull-shit. He was found with eight burner phones; all smashed to pieces."

I had no idea what he was talking about, but the timing was undoubtedly suspicious after the attack in the cave, "I'll ask around. But I swear it wasn't us."

"Get a lid on it. We had enough trouble with rogue vigilantes last year. I'm still an officer down 'cause Roland Daggett exploded on the front of his frickin' car when one of you dropped him off his penthouse."

That one felt personal, "We've been through this before, and the toxicology backed me up, he was in that situation because of Jonathan Crane."

"Still, he wouldn't have been on that ledge if..."

I cut him off, he was making me want to punch him, "Speaking of Crane, is he still under maximum security at Arkham?"

"Hopefully til the day he dies, yeah, why?"

"I need to see him."

"HA! Good one. He's locked up tight, even I'd struggle to get a face to face. You not been watching the news? That Beaumont woman wants his head, there're protestors outside the asylum day and night on her side and his tearing chunks off one another."

"His side?"

"Yeah, sure, anti-death-penalty nutjobs. Beaumont wants Crane and Zsasz transferred to Blackgate and executed. Between us, she's already had a shit load of verdicts overturned."

"They're sending Asylum inmates to Blackgate?"

"A handful of 'em, yeah. They'll be in gen pop before the month is out, that woman doesn't have a clue what she's unleashing in that place. We send these creeps to Arkham for a reason, there'll be riots inside, mark my words."

"She has a point though, Crane being involved in their sentencing is fishy," I said.

"He had a cover to maintain, we don't know how long he was nutso, can you really tell me you think it's a good idea to put assholes like Mad Hatter and Victor Zsasz in an overcrowded prison?" He asked.

"Zsasz will be straight into solitary and you know it."

"Until all the gangbangers whose relatives he sliced band together and get to him. it ain't that hard these days, half the screws in the place are in someone's pocket."

"Then do something about it?"

"That ain't how the game works, there wouldn't be enough guards left to run the damned place."

"Then why do you care so much about this guy?" I said, waving the file around, "Bit of a double standard don't you think?"

"Listen here," Bullock growled, "If one of the boys in Blackgate or in some shithole precinct takes a handout from Maxxie Zeus to look the other way on some dealing going down in his club, we ain't stepping in. I hate that shit, but it's the way it is, we do not have enough cops on the street. But when innocent women are turning up dead on my riverbanks and there's a cop trying to help cover it up - there's no way in hell I'm letting that slide."

"If I see any of it, I won't be looking the other way," I insisted.

"Good luck to ya, kid," He said sarcastically, and then in a more serious tone added: "Don't lose that file, you won't be getting another. And I wanna know the second you find something."

I turned out of the alley, leaving Bullock standing in the rain. Clutching the file in hand, I fired a line up on to the nearest roof where Steph sat waiting, tapping on an imaginary watch to signify how late I was.

We swung together from roof to roof until I could find us shelter from the downpour.

"Whatcha got there?" Steph asked.

"It's a file, on the officer from Gotham Central who stole the phone," I explained, opening the file.

"So who is it?"

I didn't answer; it must have been a mistake. I turned the pages quickly, all of the documents pertained to the same officer.

"Dick?" Steph said, leaning closer.

I didn't answer again, and she grabbed the file.

"Woah, what the hell? This is your buddy right, Nate?"

"Yes. Yes, it is," I said, accepting the truth.

"What do we do?"

"We're going to pay him a visit."

"Tonight?"

"Tonight."

* * *

I didn't need the file to tell me where Nate lived; I'd been there on numerous occasions, we were friends after all. We'd drifted a little in the last six months - he, Emily and myself hadn't been out together for well over a month. Emily was pissed that I hadn't told Nate I'd dropped out of class. We'd had something of an unofficial falling out, neither of us picking up the phone to sort it out.

Steph and Emily had become friends though, so there was still a bridge I could cross if I wanted to.

It occurred to me that maybe if I'd not kept Nate at arm's length, I may have had more of a grasp on whether or not I thought he was capable of the kind of corruption Bullock was sure he'd committed. I couldn't see it, he was a good man in my eyes, but I'd changed a lot in such a short space of time, and maybe he had too. Now that I thought about it, he did seem a little off last time we spoke.

I was perched along on the corner of a nearby building, watching Nate's apartment building through my binoculars. He wasn't home. Steph appeared behind me and tapped me on the shoulder, I should have heard her coming, but worryingly I'd been off my guard. Again.

"I hid the file in my room," Steph said breathlessly.

"Good, I'll come and get it later."

"He back yet?"

"Nope, I tried calling Barb, figured she'd be at work so she could tell me if he was there, but she didn't answer."

"She did say not to disturb her," Steph reminded me.

"I thought she might want to know the situation."

"This guy's your friend, right?"

"Right?" I replied.

"Then can't you just take him for a beer or something? Maybe he's in trouble; he might just tell you if you get a few beers down him," She suggested.

"I'd rather not alert him if he thinks anyone's on to him, even me, he's less likely to make a mistake," I explained.

"Makes sense," She said, pulling out her phone and tapping at the screen.

"What are you doing?" I asked, frowning.

"Taking notes, in case you decide to try and test me later or something."

I shook my head, "You don't have to pass an exam; this isn't a qualification."

"Try telling that to Alfred, the stuff he put together for me is pretty heavy, it's like I'm studying another degree," She explained, "He wrote a ten-page document on the uses of a Batarang."

"He's just thorough."

"Yeah, or he's bored coz you never go and see him."

"I see him plenty. And I hope you're not taking all this stuff to class with you; I think you'll have a hard time explaining to your professor why you've got manuals on how to use a grappling hook in your book bag."

"Do I look stupid?" She said, "In fact, don't answer that, because I know you'll say yes or shrug or say something you think is really funny."

"You think I'm funny," I stated.

"You think you're funny, I laugh because I feel sorry for you," She insisted.

"Why did I get stuck with you? I never gave Bruce this much hassle."

"Not what I hear."

"Oh yeah, who's your source?"

"Barbara, Alfred, Roy, Leslie..."

"Alright, I get the point."

"Hey, look," Steph said, pointing to the main entrance, "That looks like him."

Nate stepped out of a cab and opened his umbrella, masking him and the woman he helped out of the car from view. The two of them dashed to the doorway to hide from the downpour. It looked like they were caught up in conversation.

"Looks like he was on a date," Steph said, "He got a girlfriend?"

"Not that I'm aware of, but we haven't spoken in a while I guess," I replied.

Tightly under the umbrella, the pair disappeared into the lobby. There seemed to be a very long time between their disappearance on the ground floor and the light going on in Nate's apartment on the fifteenth.

Because of the angle, I could only see them from the torso down, but the lights were low, and he helped his lady-friend take off her coat, so we were in no doubt that this was a date.

"This is getting a little weird," Steph said, "Can we just come back later?"

"No."

"What if they start doing it on the couch or something? They're clearly kissing from this angle."

"If she's a cop, we need to know," I snapped back.

"I know your girl left town and everything, but if this is how you get your rocks off now, I am not down..."

"Spoiler," I snarled, "If you want to go, just go, but if you're staying, stay quietly."

"Sheesh," She said under her breath, "Whatever, peeping Robin."

I pretended not to hear her so as not to flip my lid. She was right of course, it was getting weird, and I was probably a lot more uncomfortable than she was.

I quietly thought to myself that it couldn't get worse and learned a harsh lesson, that you don't have to speak out loud to jinx something completely. When Nate moved over to the window to close the curtains, his date shuffled on the sofa, and I finally saw her face and unmistakable red hair - it was Barbara.


	4. Arrested

Barbara was red-faced with a fury I hadn't seen since the night of our breakup, and so was I.

"Oh yeah? So how did it start?!" I yelled, our voices were both getting louder and louder, but I was utterly furious, and I had every right to be.

"We met for dinner once to talk about you!" Barbara insisted. How she could think she had a leg to stand on in this argument was entirely beyond me.

"So you were checking up on me?" I said, "Even though you insisted you just worked together!"

"We got talking, and we were both worried there might be something wrong!" She spat.

"So you decided to screw one another to help me out? And why would he be worried, he doesn't know what happened? Or did you decide to tell him everything?"

"You're being ridiculous," She snapped, folding her arms and turning to look away from me.

"You're having sex with one of my best friends!"

"Not that it's any of your business, but we haven't... If you'd have stuck around you'd have seen me leave. And some best friend you are, you haven't seen each other in over a month. Unless you count spying!"

"Spying? If you've forgotten, that's part of what we do! When was the last time you even suited up?"

"Someone had to pick up the slack in the cave since you've been busy feeling sorry for yourself. And following me around apparently."

"I wasn't following you around," I said, calming down slightly, "Nate was the one who took the phone from the evidence lockup at Gotham Central."

"Says who?"

"Says Bullock. Or don't you trust the word of one of the only cops your dad would vouch for unquestionably?"

Barbara paused for a long time, before saying, "He'd do the same for Renee Montoya, it doesn't mean she couldn't make a mistake."

"His name was on the register for the phone."

"Someone could be setting him up."

"I know they could, but we have to look into it."

Barbara raised a hand to silence me as she reached into her pocket; her phone was lit up and vibrating.

"Hello, Barbara Gordon speaking," She said and turned to leave the room.

"Probably Nate," I said quietly to Steph who was still awkwardly sat in silence by the door.

"Leave it, man," Steph replied seriously.

"Oh, so you're on her side too?" I said, not entirely surprised.

"It's a little weird but if they like each other what's the problem?"

"Because..."

"Exactly. You and Babs are just friends now; you haven't dated in years."

"But..."

"But nothing, man, move on."

I couldn't think of anything to say. It made sense when she put it like that, but she wasn't the one in the situation, so she couldn't truly understand.

Barbara stormed back into the room and slammed her phone on the table. I flinched as she turned her furious face to mine and asked aggressively, "What the hell were you thinking?"

I looked to Steph, not knowing what Barb was talking about, who simply shrugged her shoulders.

"Fill me in?" I asked softly.

"You told me that once you knew I was there, you went home."

"I did?"

"Then who stormed Nate's apartment?" Barbara asked.

"What? I don't know what you're talking about? Was that Nate? Is he OK?" I replied, overwhelmed with confusion.

"I've been called in to cover his shift, and I'm going to be questioned afterwards. Nate's been arrested."

"And you think it was me?"

"Apparently a vigilante entered his apartment and broke his wrist, tied him to a chair and called the cops," Barbara explained.

"They arrested him for being beaten up?" I said.

"When they did a sweep of the apartment, they found the phone from evidence. Prompting a wider search."

"Oh my god."

Barbara trembled, "They also found a combat knife, a match for the weapon used in the third butcher killing."

"Jesus Christ," Nate being corrupt was one thing, but this? Him being the butcher? It was impossible, "I swear I wasn't the one who attacked Nate. Bullock told me someone had been dropped from a fire escape the other night by 'one of us' too. Maybe it was the same guy?"

"The same guy that attacked you in the cave?"

"That's what I'm thinking."

"Get to the other cave and carry on as normal, I've gotta get to work, I'll find out what I can about Nate."

* * *

The elevator to the Ratcave had a much shorter distance to travel underground than the one to the Batcave, but it really made me miss the rickety old thing as it screeched slowly to a halt in the bottom. Steph and I wobbled on our feet, and I very nearly dropped the metal briefcase I was carrying.

Lights flickered to life, not all of them of course, about a third of them needed their bulbs replacing. There was a sound of dripping pipes, and the place smelled a lot like a sewage tunnel.

"I wish I could tell you this place smelled worse than your apartment," Steph said, holding her nose, "But honestly, it's a close one."

"If you don't like the smell, why do you come over?" I asked her.

"To train, duh," She replied.

"Well, maybe we should stop training? If the smell is so bad?"

"You know if you stop training me, I'll just carry on by myself," She insisted.

"Not if I wipe your memory."

"You can't do that, I've seen what you've got at your disposal, man," She said gesturing around her, "You're hardly the Men in Black."

"This is temporary," I said, walking to the half-built Batcomputer, "I hope."

"Why are we here again?" Steph asked, placing the box she'd been carrying beside the computer.

"Barb wanted us to bring some parts up for her so she could come here straight from work," I explained.

"I know that, I meant the other thing."

"We're going to test the vehicle elevator to see if it's safe and nothing is obstructing it," I told her, "Once that's done we'll head back to the manor and start bringing whatever vehicles here that we can. And while all that's going on, this Batcomputer is going to be running a facial recognition program on all the CCTV in town to see what Nate has been up to..."

"Cool cool, that mean I get to ride a Wingcycle?" She said, beaming at me.

"You got a licence?" I asked.

"No? You know I don't."

"Then no, you can't ride a Wingcycle."

"What about the Batwing, can I fly that?"

"The Batwing is being dismantled and shipped off, there's no room for it here, and we can't leave it under the manor. And I'd never allow you to fly it, under any circumstance," I said sternly, imagining Steph trying to fly out of the Batcave and immediately crashing into the wall.

"You know your problem? No trust, man," She replied, folding her arms rebelliously as if I was going to take any pity on her whatsoever.

"Hey, I'd trust you with my life, just not any of my vehicles."

"Your vehicles, it's a Bat-wing not a Night-wing... Or a Nightwing-wing?" She sat back and scratched her head.

"In that case, ask Barbara, but the answer will be the same, I'm happy to pay for you to have some driving lessons?"

"That's weirdly patronising, but I guess you could say it's part of my training..."

* * *

I fell back into a very uncomfortable chair and sighed at the top of my lungs; it had taken us way longer than I'd expected to get that vehicle lift working. Steph's once-blonde hair was now streaked with oil which she'd somehow also managed to get all over her face. She sat cross-legged on the floor, trying to scrub a patch of oil from her leg, not realising she was sitting in a puddle of it.

"I'm ready for a nap," I said.

"You look like you haven't slept in five years, man, you need more than a nap," Steph laughed, looking up at me.

"I lead a very action-packed lifestyle," I joked, "Oh, and you're sitting in oil."

She craned her neck behind her to look down at her butt, which was a dark black contrasting with the blue of her jeans. Her face red, she turned to me and growled, "I've been sat here for like five minutes you douchewad, why didn't you say something?"

"Funny," I shrugged.

"Oh yeah?" She said, getting up and planting her hand in the puddle of oil, "Is it funny now?"

Steph marched towards me, hand outstretched, "Hey, you stay away from me with that," I said.

"Why? It's sooo funny," She replied, hovering it right in front of my face.

I ducked under her arm and rolled behind her, "You'll have to do better than that!"

She lunged for me with both hands, and I dodged again, sliding to one side and narrowly missing the puddle of slick on the ground.

"I'm gonna get you, asshole!" Steph snarled, leaping forward again. This time, I moved slightly to one side and swept her leg, catching her by the non-greasy hand and holding her suspended in the air.

"Do you give in?" I asked.

Steph looked me dead in the eyes with a sad expression on her face, "Sure, you know I wasn't gonna do anything, right?" I looked down at her, suspiciously and pulled her to her feet, we were only a couple of inches from each other, and she leant up to whisper in my ear, "I'm sorry... About this!"

An oily black hand slid down the side of my face and left a huge mark, "You..." I began but was stopped by the sudden clunk of the nearby elevator.

"Glad to see you two are having so much fun," Barb said pointedly.

"Hey, Barb, we got the elevator working," I said, embarrassed.

"They wouldn't let me see Nate," She explained, "But I got my hands on his statement. He was attacked by a hooded man with a silver mask and a black cape who came to the front door. The guy tied him to the chair and started turning the apartment over."

"Black cape and silver mask? That sounds familiar," I said, not able to place where I thought I remembered it from.

"I thought so too," Barb said, "Whoever he is, once he found what he was looking for, he called the police and left. Nate thinks he planted the phone and the knife because he said he'd never seen them before."

"Not a great defence," I admitted.

"I know, so far there's no proof anyone else was even there, not so much as a boot print."

"He can't have broken his own wrist and tied himself up."

"No of course not, but whoever we're dealing with is very good at not leaving evidence."

"Did they pull anything from the phone?"

"Completely fried," She said, seething, "But they have a positive ID on the third victim, she was a mature student working in a bar, no ties to the first two victims so far."

"Is there anything we can do to recover the data?" I asked.

"It's possible, but there's no way anyone is getting near that phone after what happened, it's under lock and key."

"I'll have to bust in and take it; it's the only way."

Barb considered for a second then nodded, "I don't think we have much of a choice. If we can get into it, maybe we can clear Nate and get an idea of the real killer."

"Unless he is..."

"Don't."

"Sorry. But we have to consider the possibility."

"I know, I won't rule it out."

* * *

Stealth and infiltration hadn't been covered in Steph's curriculum, so I sent her to wait for me back at the apartment. Barb had uploaded a sonar schematic of Gotham Central to my VISR so I could pinpoint the phone and hopefully get in and out before anyone knew I was there.

That was the idea, at least. I'd arrived at a vantage point within spitting distance of the target building and was getting ready to examine it closely when a feeling gripped me like a frozen breeze.

Shrouded in some kind of black vapour, I was kicked hard and launched on to my back. Whoever had attacked was fast enough to avoid my counter.

The vapour solidified as I rose quickly to my feet. It took the shape of a hooded man with a silver mask; I couldn't believe what I was seeing, it wasn't just a mask, it was the mask of the Phantasm - the fictional nemesis of the Grey Ghost.

"Who are you?" I asked, readying my fists for a fight.

The figure didn't answer; he stood suspended like a statue.

"What do you know about the Bleake Island Butcher?" I asked, more loudly than the first question.

Again, he didn't speak, just standing still and staring from behind that chilling mask. He was mocking me. I lunged, he moved faster than light at the last second and tripped me to the floor.

Finally, a voice emanated from the mask, "Go back to the suspect's apartment. Check the drawer in the end table by the door, and you'll find what you're looking for."

"What?" I said, turning to face him. He was gone, without a trace.

I tapped my earpiece and called Barbara.

"You find anything?" She asked.

"I'm not there yet, I just had contact with my attacker," I explained, "It's the Phantasm."

"The what?"

"The Phantasm, he's from a movie I used to watch with Bruce, he's wearing his mask and everything," I added.

"You're sure you've not hit your head?" Barbara asked.

"I'm sure; I know what I saw. He's fast, way faster than I am, I couldn't catch him."

"Did he say anything? Where is he now? Are you hurt? Is it definitely a man?" She said frantically.

"Slow down, slow down, I'm fine. He just tripped me up and then let me throw a punch - I think he was testing my reflexes. He told me where to go back to Nate's apartment and where to look for something - then disappeared. And it's a man as far as I can tell."

"What did he tell you?"

"To check a drawer in an end table."

"Whatever you find in, there could have been planted. Or it could be a trap."

"Maybe, what would be the point, though? If he wanted to plant evidence, he'd have left it for the cops, and if he wanted to trap me why not just knock me out again? I don't know why he attacked me, but so far he's only harmed people he thinks are criminals."

"You don't know that! For all we know it could be one of the Talons under that mask."

"That wouldn't make sense."

"Neither does ambushing you and then pointing you towards the evidence."

"Maybe he was relying on the cops finding it, but they missed it somehow," I suggested.

"Then why not go back for it himself?" Barbara said, her voice bubbling with frustration.

"At the very least, he knows my identity. Maybe he knows a lot more than that, maybe he knows about my meetings with Bullock, and he doesn't have a straight path to the GCPD like I do?"

"That's one hell of a stretch, Dick," Barbara said, before letting out a defeated sigh, "You're going in there no matter what I say, aren't you?"

"No matter what," I said.

"Promise me you'll do a thorough check for booby traps."

"I will. Once I have the phone, I'll secure it and head to Nate's apartment."


	5. Lacking Evidence

Without hesitation, I fired up the sonar schematic of the GCPD building on my VISR display and coordinated the image to what was in front of me. The evidence room was marked in red on the second floor.

The sonar pulse itself was coming from a device Barbara had planted on the ground floor, so the image on the upper floors was considerably weaker and less defined. It appeared that the most accessible entry point was a fourth-floor bathroom. The window was tiny and much easier to jimmy open than it was to slide through, I snake-cammed it beforehand so I wouldn't land unexpectedly on some poor guy's head while he was relieving himself in the cubicle.

A smell of bleach hung in the air, the bathroom had just been cleaned, and not well. The floor looked to have been mopped only in the centre, and the sinks were still covered in dirty specs and finger marks. The evidently lazy cleaner was still in the hallway, I could see him through the wall, leaning on his mop and flicking through something on his phone.

Annoyingly, the door to the stairwell was right in front of him. I was going to have to create a distraction.

The cleaner was standing just in range of one of the sprinklers on the ceiling, convenient if I could set it off without too much trouble. I braced myself, threw a Batarang at it, and with a ping, it dislodged and started to spray water all over the guy.

"Shit, my phone, shit," He yelled, jumping out of the stream of water and dabbing the phone on his clothes.

Still cursing he ran to the bathroom I was standing in. I hid behind the door and crept out as he bounded past me.

Scooping up the Batarang from the floor, I ran straight into the stairwell and checked below for anyone heading my way. A pair of detectives, a man and a woman, were standing against the railings on the second floor, chatting and drinking coffee.

"That asshole was lucky he wasn't brought in feet first after what he did to those girls," One said, in a voice that caused a familiar feeling of resentment to bubble in the pit of my stomach.

"We don't know he did anything, could be a fit-up," The other said, I recognised her voice, it was Montoya, "How often do we find evidence and a murder weapon like that, it was too easy, Corrigan."

Of course, it was Corrigan, and of course, he was on the wrong side of the argument - rotten to his core.

Anxious to get the job done, I paced impatiently until they finally stopped talking and left the stairwell, Corrigan still sneering at Montoya's continued insistence of Nate's innocence. Luckily no one else had sprung up on me while I was carelessly out in the open.

I had no one to contend with between the stairwell and the evidence lockup. I crouched past the security desk, the officer on duty not breaking eye contact with his phone. Once I bypassed the lock, the phone I was after was waiting for me in the centre of the room all bagged up and ready to go, light shining on it like some Indiana Jones treasure - _too easy_.

"I've got it, making my way out," I radioed in to Barbara, reaching for the phone. Then, suddenly the door behind me clunked. I darted to one side as quickly as I could and took cover behind the far shelves, two officers strode in, laughing and joking, they obviously weren't looking for me.

"Nightwing?" Barbara's voice said in my ear. I quickly cut her off, focusing myself on not being seen.

The first of the officers, a scrawny and pale young man with sandy blonde hair began running his finger along evidence boxes, "We're looking for Jonathan Crane," he explained, pointing into another corner of the room, the name still gave me chills, "Why don't you check over there."

The other officer, who looked to be of similar age was a stronger build with distinctly patchy stubble and a crew cut, replied, "Crane is under 'C'?"

"We need to check under 'S', for Scarecrow," The first officer explained, rolling his eyes.

"Right." The other officer wandered into the other corner of the room which was thankfully away from where I was hiding.

Then, the blonde officer looked over his shoulder and, to my complete disbelief, grabbed the evidence I was in there to retrieve, and stuffed it in his back pocket, out of view of his colleague. Calmly composing himself, he returned to his position and pulled out another evidence bag, "I got it, let's get this to the Captain."

I quickly snapped a shot of his face through my VISR.

"I still don't know why he couldn't get it himself," The other officer said, and their voices trailed off as they left the room.

"We got a problem," I said again to Barbara.

"What is it?" She replied.

"Someone came and took the phone."

"What? I thought you had it?"

"I'm uploading a picture of an officer for you to check against the police database," I explained, "He just stole our evidence from the lockup right in front of me."

* * *

It took a lot longer to get out of the station than it had taken to get in. And by the time I'd reached Nate's place, I was exhausted.

Nate's apartment looked as though it had been taken over by a herd of rampaging elephants. Something told me this wasn't the cops' doing, more likely it was the result of my masked friend throwing him around a little before tying him up.

I cautiously ducked under the crime scene tape and crept into the room, staying on my guard.

The Phantasm, or whatever the hell he was, had told me to look in a drawer for something the cops had missed. Confusing to say the least, if he was one of us, or at least if he saw himself as one of us then why wasn't he following up on the evidence himself?

The only way I could rationalise it in my head was that, aside from his blatant supernatural abilities, he didn't have access to the resources that we did.

Just as he'd told me, the end table by the door, it was open. The cops had clearly been rummaging through it, but all it contained was takeout menus, a matchbook and a spare key.

"Hey, Barb, you there?" I asked.

"I'm here," She replied.

"Any luck with the picture?"

"Still running it through the database, have you found anything?"

"Nothing, I think he was messing with us."

"There's nothing in the drawer? Maybe they took it into evidence?"

"Not nothing. Just junk."

"What kind of junk?"

"Menus for pizza places, spare house key," I explained, shifting through the menus to see if there was anything between the pages, "Hang on, there are some matches here."

"And?" Barb asked.

"The matchbook is from Mount Olympus Bar and Casino, the one..." I began.

"The one on Bleake Island, what the hell was he doing there?"

"I don't know, it could be nothing, anyone could have given this to him."

"He doesn't smoke, why would he even bother taking them?"

"Well, if he was there, there's only one type of cop that hangs out at Maxxie Zeus's Casino," I sighed, trying in my head to give Nate the benefit of the doubt, "The ones in his pocket..."

"Not Nate, someone has to be trying to set him up, maybe one of the other officers put it there. If an officer took the phone, maybe there's something bigger going on here."

"Why would they put it there and not file it as evidence?" I asked, sceptically.

Barbara huffed angrily, "I don't know, Dick, but we have to find out soon, Nate isn't going to get bail if he's a suspected serial killer - and you know what happens to cops when they're locked up."

"I know, I know. See if you can do some digging at the station tomorrow and I'll head to the casino and see what I can find out. We'll get to the bottom of this, Barb, I promise."


End file.
